


Sleep Deprivation

by DistantStorm



Series: Never The Right Time [4]
Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Mildly Fluffy, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Relationship, The Red War, hurt comfort, smol angst, the Farm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-08-19 14:04:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16535975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DistantStorm/pseuds/DistantStorm
Summary: Perhaps if he slept more, he wouldn't have such violent dreams about things he can't remember in languages he doesn't know.





	Sleep Deprivation

As in all things, he is also an incredibly polite sleeper. She is used to holding still when she sleeps - at one point she had to sleep in a tree for a few months because doing so on the ground would have put her way too at risk of discovery by bears. But that's a different story for a different time.

Back to the man sleeping next to her in this tiny bed. He rarely moves, and always waits for her to get comfortable before he settles in beside her, on the rare nights he graces her little bed in the farmhouse. She never thought she would see the day he truly slept. She means that. He is out. His arm is over her side, dead weight, his breathing is perfectly even, and the spectral patterns under his skin hum something soothing - like ocean waves. Not that she's seen the ocean recently, the Farm is a little landlocked.

Honestly, she should be sleeping, too, but she can't bring herself away from staring at this picture of perfection that has crawled into bed with her. What with his sooty lashes ghosting against his cheek and those expressive eyebrows calm and smooth be for a change… His face looks so much younger.

She forces herself to focus. Sleep. She should sleep. If she doesn’t, she’ll fidget. And that will wake him up. She would hate herself if she kept him from a good night’s - morning's, actually, that’s the light of dawn coming in the window - sleep.

For the love of pearl, Suraya, she chastises herself silently. No more distractions. Sleep. This isn't a common luxury.

He moves just as she begins to get comfortable, with a sudden burst of restless energy. His brows are a bit more furrowed. His fingers twitch against her back. She’s got no clue how to - what to do. Should she wake him up? His lips are moving, saying foreign words in no language that she’s ever heard.

“Zavala,” She whispers.

The strange language tumbling from his lips becomes louder. She brings the arm that’s crossed under his to his face. Presses her thumb against the worry lines of his forehead, smoothing them down across this temple. His legs jerk and he kicks her in the shin, hard. She knows he’s strong, but he’s also asleep. Also, this is not anything like the other dozen times he's slept here with her.

And: It absolutely hurts, but she bites back the yelp.

“Hey,” She whispers. “Zavala. You’re dreaming. It’s okay.”

He twists, laying on his back, and in the pale light she can see the movement of his eyes under his eyelids, which are practically twitching, much like his hands right now. The swirling of his skin becomes almost violent in agitation. She props herself up, putting a hand on his chest and jostling him.

“Zavala, wake up.”

The only thing he registers is her hand on his chest, and the next thing she knows, she’s pinned to the bed, and he’s above her, eyes wild.

“Whoa! Hey. It’s me. Look at me.” He has one hand braced beside her head to hold him up, and the other is primed to bar her throat. His legs have her pinned from the waist down. She reaches up and cups both of his cheeks. He is seeing something, but it isn't her. “Zavala. Breathe. Look at me.”

He blinks, and she feels more than sees awareness hit him as his body slingshots to fully awake with a jerk. He looks absolutely mortified, terror sparking in his eyes. She sits up when he rears back and gets up without a word, trembling in something that is a cross of fear and anger, but is not directed at her. She hears the sound of the rusty sink in the bathroom screeching on, and the slam of something that definitely wasn’t broken but is now. She slips into her clothes silently, and hops back under the covers to wait out the inevitable.

He slips back into the room as silently as a Titan can - she doesn’t have the heart to tell him she can hear him from a mile away - and she hears more than sees him pulling on his clothes and armor. She can tell from his breathing that he’s still agitated. She wonders if he really buys that she’s asleep, or if he’s just hoping she’s polite.

Not that it matters, because he absolutely gets all of his gear on and clunks out of the room without a word, and he keeps to the walls like the bed is a bomb that might explode at him if he gets too close.

“You have got to be kidding me,” She grouses to herself, when the door closes behind her in a ‘don’t follow me’ gesture that screams brooding child. She throws the blankets off, sinks her feet into her boots, grabs her poncho from the trunk in front of her, opens the warped window beside the bed, and slips outside.  

-/

“You’re a lot of things,” She says, rounding the dilapidated house with light footsteps trying to catch him off guard. “But you’re not a coward. Did you really think I went back to sleep?”

The tense of his shoulders is the only indication she gets that he’s heard. She had hoped the surprise would make him face her. It does not.

“Zavala.”

He keeps walking.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” She stalks after him, heading to the barn.

When she gets there, he’s picking up reports, reorganizing them. There really isn’t a ton of light to read by in the dark barn, but apparently it’s enough for his eyes since they glow like twin stars. When he ignores her, even when she puts her hand over the report that he’s about to pick up, she rolls her eyes and withdraws.

Suraya whistles low. Louis drops from the rafters quietly, if not a bit indignant at being disturbed at such an hour. He lands on the table in-between the stables, directly in front of her. She realizes she’s not wearing her gauntlet, and there’s no treat bag on her belt. He’ll have to settle for touch.

“He’s being an idiot,” She tells Louis, when the raptor chirps quietly, looking at the Commander who is ignoring them both as if encouraging him to explain. “Acts like he’s the only one who’s ever had nightmares.”

The bird cocks his head, makes a low cry, and hops forward, toward her, nipping her fingers.

“I know, it’s stupid right? I’m totally not mad.” She leans in close, and he nips her nose affectionately. She grins at him, whispering conversationally, “Between you and me, I don’t think he knows I could have taken him. Mmm, especially when he’s not wearing armor.”

There’s a firmer cheep, and Suraya shrugs at the rustle of wings.

“What? He’s good looking. I regret nothing, bird. You need a lady friend to spice things up. Then you’ll see what I mean.”

She notices that the rustling of papers has stopped, but doesn’t dare take the chance to see if he’s looking at her, instead setting her focus on stroking the downy feathers of her partner’s breast. The bird settles with an adjustment of tucked wings.

His handler sighs. “It’s kind of nice,” She says softly, dropping onto one of the stools beside the old table, not stopping her attentions on Louis. “I’m not used to making a good team with somebody. I’d like to think we get each other.”

Louis cries sharply and looks over Suraya’s shoulder.

She smiles. “Easy,” She croons softly to the falcon. “I know you and me make a good team. I meant people teams. I mean, he’s insufferable, but it works, y’know? In that prince falls for the bandit kind of way. Maybe Snow White, but instead of the seven dwarves, I have - okay, definitely more than seven scouts. Not the point. You get the idea. I think I’d like to skip the cursed apple bit, though. Not really down for the parts where I require saving.”

“Do you always talk to Louis about people who are in the same room as you?” Timid isn’t a word she would use to describe the Commander, but there are definitely undertones of hesitancy in his voice.

Louis receives a two finger smooth-down of the feathers on the crest of his head. “Do we do this often?” She pauses, and he tips his head back, seeking her touch. Suraya answers herself. “I don’t think so. Mostly we talk about the weather, the Guardians looking at you funny, and how you better not lead me to any bears.” A serious note of confirmation from Louis punctuates her words and she nods to the falcon, who kicks off and returns to his nesting place.

Her lips pull into a sad little smile when his hands rest on her waist. This is all still very new for them both, if she’s to be honest with herself.  He rests his head on her shoulder. “I do not know what I was dreaming about, what I was saying. It… happens, sometimes.”

She does not move, except to cover his hands with hers. She can feel his breath through her hood when he exhales.

“I could have hurt you.”

“Maybe,” She concedes, “But you didn’t. I’ll wake you quicker, if it ever happens again.”

The part of his brain that processes her still being willing to share a bed with her stalls. It takes a moment to restart. “This - it does not frighten you?”

She tilts her head to look at him. “Reckon it scared you more than me,” She whispers. “Besides, I don’t think I could imagine some of the things you’ve seen. If you didn’t have some baggage, I’d be a little concerned.”

He scoffs at that. “Baggage. I’ve lived centuries more than you. There is no suitcase big enough.”

She cracks a smile at that, and knows it makes him feel a little better when he rests his head against her cheek. “I’m aware. The Titans joke that you have the biggest pauldrons for a reason. I know just how much rests on those shoulders of yours.” She looks back toward the Farmhouse, diagonal from the barn’s yawning entryway. “I also know that if you slept like you were supposed to those night terrors wouldn’t be so bad.”

More sighing. He does that a lot, she thinks. “There is no time, Suraya. We’re at war.”

“I know, I know. But hear me out.  _We’re_  not actually due back at war for another six hours.” She leans back against him, her head falling back against his shoulder. “You can’t tell me you don’t want to curl back up in bed with me.”

There is silence for a long while. “And if there is a repeat of my previous actions?”

Suraya laughs, turning her head to kiss his cheek. She's never done it before, and she's not adverse to potentially doing it again. “Have a little faith, Commander. You won’t.”


End file.
